


scrap metal

by joobydoodles



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cutting, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Trans Maxwell Puckett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joobydoodles/pseuds/joobydoodles
Summary: Regardless of how well you cover up your tracks, someone could always come bursting in at the same moment to uproot every single thing you worked so hard to hide away out of shame. Maxwell Puckett learns that this could very well be the best thing for him when he's in a time of need. Thank the stars that someone came storming in just at the right time, too.
Relationships: Maxwell Puckett/Isaac O'Connor
Kudos: 9





	scrap metal

An awful, hollow feeling warbled in his chest. Hands sleek with sweat gripped an old, coiled paper towel inside his hoodie pocket. His footsteps sounded muted against the hard floor of the small convenience store as he dodged around the small counter, taking quick steps up a stairwell in the back. He made haste towards the lavatory nearby, nearly face-planting when his toe nicked a small strip of wood at the bottom of the doorway. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it and sliding down to the floor. His brain felt fizzy and his body was filled with an odd sensation, discomforting. He ran a calloused thumb over the fragile tissue in his pocket, listening for something outside the door.

Quiet bristling sounded outside the door as someone passed by. Dad, most likely. He heard the creak-creak-creaking of the aged stairs as he descended. Beyond that, he could hear nothing else but the quiet thumping of stock being placed on shelves or beeping of the scanner. Max let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in.

His hands shook in anticipation as that odd sensation rose to a crescendo, a painful itch in the back of his throat. He fumbled with the tattered paper towel, pulling it out and struggling to unwrap the contents within, his hands shaking like a thin cloth in a strong breeze. The itch in his throat spread bit by bit as a pin-prickle twinged in his eye, followed by a painful rising of tears.

He scooched away from the door to the small bathtub that could barely fit him nearby. The cold porcelain sent an empty, chilled sensation through his body. Max finally glanced down at the contents held within the battered tissue: glimmering razor blades, a pair.

Setting the towel on the ground, Max proceeded to lift his hips from the ground to push down his baggy board washed jeans, leaving them bunched up around his ankles. He wiggled a finger beneath the razors, lifting them up and sliding one to his other hand. His eyes flicked between the two, settling on the blade resting in his right hand. It had less bends and dents in it and appeared cleaner than the other.

Max let the other blade flop back on to the used paper, running his now empty hand across the expanse of his thigh, littered with bloody scabs and scars, some pinker than others. Stubborn patches of blood stuck to his thighs from early that morn'. He scratched at one of the newer, more puckered scars on his left thigh, letting the tip of his finger dip in to the small gap present.

Max rubbed at the bags under his eyes, trying to mitigate that pin-prickling in the back of his eye. He briefly let his hand flop down to the ground, fingers curling up from the chilled bathroom tile. He wiped the same hand on his shirt before clamping his forefinger and thumb on the dull edge of the razor, his opposite fingers following suit. He angled the sharpened blade down to a cleaner part of his thigh, covered with more aged scars. With a careful press against his flesh to finalize his aim, he sealed the deal. One harsh push and some dragging across the meat of his thigh revealed a new, fresh slice on his thigh, directly over an old one. When the stabbing, sharp pain became too painful, he pulled the razor away to observe his own handiwork. The skin seemed unmarred besides an indentation where the razor had just been, but beads of blood began to ebb up and out of the cut, eventually growing in to small raindrops of shimmering scarlet on Max's thigh. A tingle and a rush of satisfaction washed over Max's arms, branching away to his other limbs and soon his entire body. His hands had fully crossed over to autopilot, leaving mark after mark on his thighs, some crooked, some squished close together with others, others branching past still-healing cuts.

In his rampage, Max failed to notice a knock at the door, thunderous. Only when the door handle rattled and turned did Max finally lift his head, heavy gaze meeting with an icy storm of blue. The look of anguish on Isaac's face only made guilt settle heavy in Max's gut, but he wiped the look clean off his own face, leaving behind his regular stony face.

``Hey string bean, how's the weather up there, huh?`` Max chuckled at his own joke, but Isaac was absolutely having none of it. The weather medium turned to close the door, a quiet snap signaling the lock had been put in place. Drat, he'd forgotten to lock the door.

Isaac padded over to where Max was sat up against the bathtub adjusting his binder beneath his 'Insolent Children' t-shirt. Isaac's line of sight dropped to the horrid mess of congealing blood streaks askew on Max's thighs. Max followed Isaac's same gaze as he grimaces.

``Heh, a little blood never killed anyone, right? Well, I guess an incorrect blood transfusion could.`` Max was quickly grasping for his somnambulatory mannerisms, a drawing of straws that he hoped would rectify the scenario he had been helplessly drawn in to without choice. His heart pitter-pattered within his rib cage, the organ feeling like a trapped bird with clipped wings beneath his constricting binder. A poor creature in a tizzy, aflutter with anxiety and sticky guilt that squeezed the insides of his throat like a bad allergic reaction. Amass with feelings he'd constantly felt, he could manage to keep up his own facade like he always could. But it was useless, futile, trivial. He had already been caught. He had been tiptoeing so carefully before, had been so careful to make sure no one knew what he'd been doing to cope. He wore longer shorts, long enough to cover up the scars closer to his kneecaps when he sat and short enough he wouldn't look like a complete and total doofus. Cleaned up everything just enough so the scraps of blood left behind weren't seen. He had made sure he left no traces. But yet here he was, stuck on the bathroom floor with one of his close friends who has just uplifted all the work he put in to hiding away this awful secret.

Isaac took in a leaf-fluttering breath, one so delicate Max thought he was trying so hard not to break him. He felt like he was close to breaking, like fragile ceramic. ``Max, I know you're trying to hide this like you always do. But...I-I mean, c'mon! I can't stand seeing you like this...`` Isaac's eyes looked glossy, shiny. ``You have no idea how much you mean to me. I promise I'll be here for you from now on, o-okay?`` Max felt his grimace fall just enough that he was now faintly frowning. His brow was furrowed up, wrinkling his forehead. The guilt in him was swallowing him whole now. Like a hole opened up beneath him and gobbled him up, never to be seen again. Only, he was still being perceived, recognized.

That perception was enough to make the stinging behind his eyelids become overflowing, a sudden waterfall of tears flowing down his face. Max didn't make a single peep, only keeping that one expression on his face. He didn't have a quip, a sarcastic comment, a joke to make to lighten the mood.

Isaac was quick to lean over and pull Max in to his lap, gently guiding his head in to the crook of his shoulder and neck. Tacky tears and some snot gathered on Isaac's shirt as Isaac's hand grazed through the trim buzz cut on the back of Max's head. The gentle petting soothed Max, enough to let the tears he was desperately holding back to save some of his dignity run free. The guilt, heavy like a stone in his gut and gooey like sap in his throat began to dwindle, a firefly's light during summer dusk.

The two didn't exchange words for a good while, only swapping gentle touches. When Max finally pulled away with blotchy pink eyes, Isaac couldn't help but try and smile for him. The effort was greatly appreciated as Max gave a tired smile back. His smile faltered when Isaac planted a chaste kiss on his heated cheek, turning it a rosy hue. Isaac's gaze was turned to the floor, a vermilion flush oozing across porcelain cheeks.

When the weather medium stood and offered his hand to the young man still on the floor, all Max could do was smile knowing he didn't really have to hide anymore.


End file.
